“Hey, Doc. We’ve got to quit meeting like this.”
Callie smiles, then laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I think I’ve ever heard. Even better is when she clasps my hand in hers and squeezes.
“You have to know there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d leave your side. Knowing my luck, you’d go and fake-die on me again.”
“I’m not done with this life yet. You and I have too much unfinished business.”
My throat goes raspy with a tickle and I cough, wincing at the band of pain that tightens around my chest. When I open my eyes again, she’s placing a straw to my mouth, and I greedily suck down the ice-water and swallow. Then she moves to my feet, lifting the sheet to uncover my lower legs. She rakes the point of one fingernail along the length of my sole and I twitch.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yeah. You weren’t supposed to find out I’m ticklish.”
She chuckles, then repeats the process with my other foot. I curse as I involuntarily jerk my foot away from the assault.
“Careful,” she says. “Looks like everything’s working, but you need to take it easy for a couple days. Long enough for the swelling to abate. Then we can see how you’re doing.”
“How bad was it?”
She takes a deep breath and settles down in the chair at my side, leaning forward to look into my eyes. “It wasn’t bad, all things considered. One of the pins from your original surgery worked itself loose and caused some swelling. They removed it, along with the other pin that was used to repair the original break, and filled the cavities with cement. Your vertebrae were healed enough to no longer need the pins as it is, so no sense keeping them in. It wasn’t something that required my input as a neurosurgeon, at least, which was a good thing. Orthopedic issues are a lot more straightforward.”
“How soon until I can travel?” I ask, bracing myself for objections.
She just shakes her head and sighs. “Can we worry about that challenge when it becomes a necessity? You really should stay in bed for at least forty-eight hours.”
“And how long have I been out so far?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You just woke up from surgery. It’s been an hour since you had your back sliced open. I’m not counting that hour, either.” She lifts her hand and glances at her watch. “Ask me at 10AM on Wednesday morning.”
That means it’s Monday morning still. It’s my turn to give her a hard stare. “Shouldn’t you be at the airport waiting to board a flight to LA right about now?”
“Mason . . .” She huffs out a breath and shakes her head, her gaze going all gooey as she takes my hand again. “I’m not leaving you lying in a hospital bed. I’ll stay until you’re on your feet at least. You were my patient when you got this injury three years ago. I didn’t get a chance to see it through the first time around, so I’m doing that now.”
Something gets caught in my throat again and my eyesight goes hazy, but not from the drugs. I squeeze her hand hard and she squeezes back.
“I fucking love you.” The words emerge from my throat as a barely intelligible croak, but she hears me just fine. She stands and bends over me, face close to mine, her blue eyes bright with a mix of worry and happiness.
“I fucking love you too,” she says, and then she kisses me.
I decide not to question my good fortune that she’s still by my side when I wake up hours later. Even better, she’s crawled onto my bed and curled up beside me, and is sleeping peacefully when I rouse again with a painful twinge flaring in the center of my back. I find the plunger for the epidural catheter that sends pain meds straight into my spine and sigh when the drugs soak in. But the sensation of her snuggled tight against me does more for my frame of mind than any drug, and I drift off again without a thought beyond absolute gratitude that the universe managed to put us back together.
I drift in and out of a drugged haze after that, vaguely aware of the passage of time as the daylight fades, then returns again. I hear voices sometimes, including hers, but I can’t be sure whether I’m dreaming or hearing real conversations.
The next time I wake up enough for coherent thought, she’s gone, and I grope for the controller for the bed and jab the button until I’m sitting up.
“Hey,” comes a raspy voice from the bathroom door. “How’re you feeling?”
Worry I didn’t know was tying me in knots disappears when she steps back into the room and settles at the foot of the bed, one hand resting on my leg. That I can still feel it is some comfort, but I’m antsy now, not to mention starving.
“Like I should be doing something besides lying here.”
“Well, are you up for another visitor or two? Maybe we can help.” She pulls out her phone and taps a message.
“Tell them to bring food, whoever it is,” I say.
Callie smirks and nods. “Your wish is my command.” When she puts her phone away, she gives me a troubled look.
“Doc, is something wrong? Don’t tell me there’s a problem with my back.”
Her eyes widen and she blinks. “No. I mean, if you’re feeling okay, there’s no indication that you won’t have a full and fast recovery. You can still feel your legs, right?” She squeezes my thigh.
“I feel that, yeah. Maybe you ought to check a little higher to be sure, though.”
That elicits a laugh and she smacks me lightly on the leg. “No strenuous activity for
